I don’t like bugs. Or sweat. Or dirt. Or marshmallows. But my family does. So I go. Twice a year, as per a verbal agreement between my husband and me, I drag myself into the woods, along with three kids, a gigantic dog, an even more gigantic tent, sleeping bags, air mattresses, firewood, s’more fixin’s, peanut butter and jelly fixin’s, water shoes for 5, hiking shoes for 5, stuffed animals for way more than 5, camp dishes and utensils, paper towels, toilet paper, a hefty supply of hand sanitizer, and a thousand other things.

We spend the weekend killing mosquitoes, peeing in bushes, toasting droopy hamburger buns over a campfire that blows smoke in our faces, and getting dirt wedged semi-permanently into our fingernails and toenails. But we also fall asleep to a cricket concert and wake up to an avian serenade. We pick dandelions and track ladybugs. And with sticky, grape-juice-colored fingers, we steer matchbox cars through sand pits and stick tunnels.

So I go. And it’s worth it. Despite the 27 loads of burr-laden laundry that always come home with us.

Does your family camp? Got any favorite ghost stories? And marshmallows — yea or nay?

Our lights are up. Our tree is lit. Until yesterday, though, we were still taking Christmas pictures in short sleeves and sandals. The cold front finally blew in overnight, so it’s finally, finally, beginning to feel like December. And the only thing under the tree? Our fat napping cat. But we’re getting into the spirit by eating our weight in candy canes and soaking up the light of the season — whether it comes from the neighbor’s electric reindeer or the gleam in Lollipop’s eye as she crafts her thank-you note to Santa: “Dear Santa, Thank you for the presits. I love them.” (Can’t hurt to plan ahead, right?)

What’s your favorite Christmas-light color? Is someone furry sleeping under your tree? And what kind of “presits” do you want this year?